


Date Night

by manicr



Category: Dark Avengers (Comic), Dark Wolverine (Comics), Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Dysfunctional Relationships, Insanity, Love Triangles, M/M, Multi, Obsession, Panic Attacks, S&M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 20:16:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1756089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manicr/pseuds/manicr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dysfunctional relationships and in-house drama with the Dark Avengers, everything is collateral and Bullseye just wants to kill people in peace. Daken has more in mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Date: The Punisher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bullseye is Frank’s biggest fan. Frank doesn't return the sentiment.

When Bullseye got the heads up that the Punisher was dead, he was a bit _disappointed_. It was over breakfast that Daken bragged how he bagged the old man and how _unsatisfying_ it had been, barely worth the bother and _definitely_ not worth the rep that the Punisher had garnered. He’d told Daken to shut his pretty whore mouth, aided by the precise application of cutlery to the throat. Fuck, the mutant sounded so good when he was in pain and blood red was really his color. Made him want to do more than just — (Nope, not going there.)

Regardless, old man Castle had been a fixture of New York for ages; he was the Flatiron Building of vigilantes. He hadn’t deserved to be cut down by an outsider like Daken - Bullseye had looked forward to killing Frank Castle. After all the times, that they had knocked heads he’d felt like he had deserved it properly.

Consequently, he had received the news that that ol’ Frank was up and kicking again with glee - even if it was as a Frankenstein’s monster (that was just _too_ funny) - and he arranged to have a rendezvous.

It all started out nicely with an explosion, delivered his newly fired and hilariously nasty modified M20 bazooka. Flechettes never went out of style.

Bullseye had chosen their battleground carefully, stalked Frank for days, and planted a false mob lead drawing him there. It was a docking and warehouse area with few non-criminal patrons this time of night. He didn’t want to be interrupted by the law or Norman. Fighting Frank was just that fun - and it made Bullseye feel like himself again after all that Avengers BS that Normie tried to sell. Not to mention his teammates (what self-respecting villain had teammates?). His money was still on that Captain Crazy was so going to try to kill them in the end. Literally. The betting pool they had going on was getting rather hefty.

“Hi ya!” Bullseye greeted a stumbling and still disoriented Frank. He waved with his free hand and discarded the M20 with his other, sauntering up close to get a good look of his old enemy. Frank had gained a lot of scrap metal on him and a fuckton of weaponry. Bullseye whistled, impressed the sheer amount of hardware Frank was toting. He himself had donned his old outfit for old times sake. He felt a bit under-dressed.

“Man, you pretty damn cool for a dead guy. Love the look,” Bullseye remarked with a grin and drew several knives.

“Pity about the structural weaknesses, really,” he continued as he jammed a knife in a joint and aimed for one of the clearly necessary tubes of gunk that was connected to Castle. (Seriously who designed that?)

“Not that weak,” Frank retorted, shielding himself with a metal arm and elbowing Bullseye in the face with it the next moment. Bullseye had anticipated the attack and managed to back away from most of the impact in time, berating himself for getting that close. Frank’s reach was longer than it had been and he really didn’t feel like breaking his nose again.

“You know, I’m actually happy to have you alive,” Bullseye continued and kicked Frank in the knee, the impact hurt but Bullseye himself had enough metal in his bones to take it. It was well worth it as Frank stumbled back. He’d lost some mobility with all the mechanical parts, but nevertheless presented enough of a challenge to be fun. Bullseye retreated a bit to get some space between them and to draw Frank out where he wanted him.

“See, the guy who was supposed to have killed you, a “teammate” of mine, is a douchebag. It was a crying shame to have him do you in. But now I get to finish you off all by myself!” Bullseye chattered happily, buying time and distracting Frank from what he was doing. (Deadpool did not have a monopoly on that strategy). Frank had gotten the knife out of his arm, and with it regaining the mobility in it, he used the opportunity to pull a CQBR, an M4A1 assault rifle if Bullseye wasn’t mistaken, on him.

“I’m not here on any official capacity this time - Normie would have a fit - so let’s keep this just between us girls,” Bullseye spat and sent more knives flying while avoiding getting shot best as he could, jumping and rolling as he bombarded his target. There was just something about fighting Castle that put him in a tantric flow and a good mood.

“You talk too much,” Frank responded, “Now stand still while I shoot you. I’m getting tired of you jumping around.”

“Where’s the fucking love?” Bullseye purred with a toothy smile and pulled out a trigger mechanism from a belt pouch.

“Everyone’s a critic.”

He’d prepped the site with several explosives and Castle had just stepped in a perfect location.

“Boom, hot stuff!” He laughed, savoring the ‘oh shit’ look on Frank’s face for a moment before he pushed the button, diving for cover. The explosion was twice as large as the first and less controlled. He’d expected this but had once more been a bit too close. It sent him flying several feet and left his ears ringing. When Bullseye finally got his head together and surveyed the damage, a shape stood in the dust.

“I really hate that guy,” Castle grumbled, “Yeah, I’m good. I got this, it's not necessary. Stay put. I’ll bury him.” He was talking to someone, presumably using an earpiece, that or he’d gone special kind of crazy after dying. Bullseye would have put money on special crazy.

“What the Hell—? Not even a scratch? That’s not fair - but it does make this funnier,” Bullseye aired his disbelief and ran for the stash of weapons he’d planted nearby - just in case - to get something entertaining.

The extra seconds it took to grab the bag and arm up, were all it took for Castle to catch up with him. Bullseye barely avoided the fist that came flying at his face, it wings him at the side of is head, making his ears ring once more. But the proximity did give him the perfect opportunity to cut some of the smaller tubes in Frank’s arm. This seemed to be more effective than going after flesh as Frank got slower and angrier the more of the fluids that were uselessly pumped out.

“You should really get that looked at,” Bullseye quipped and grabbed the thick tube on Castle’s chest, using agility and momentum to use it as a hand hold to vault over Frank, pulling it from its socket at the same time. Castle muffled a scream and - quicker than Bullseye had thought him capable of - caught him by the arm and dislocated it.

“You sunnovabitch—” Bullseye cried out and managed to pull free, at the cost of a lot of pain and his last knives. He needed distance and he needed it now. He retreated and blew an entire magazine of ammo at Castle, bullets seemed to faze him very little even though Bullseye never missed. This was getting a bit less fun. He threw the rifle, an Mk 18 CQBR with a 77-grain Mk 262 cartridge, at him too for good measure.

The bullets hit him in the dislocated shoulder and were high caliber enough to send him flying to the ground. Bullseye hissed and instinctively rolled to avoid any oncoming fire, returning his own with the hand gun, a classic Heckler & Koch Mk 23 with a suppressor, previously strapped to his thigh. His head was killing him but his left shoulder just felt numb - he couldn’t move it nor his arm. The exit wounds were huge and he was losing blood fast. Bullseye fought for his life, scrambling away from the monstrosity that was Frank Castle.

Frank simply grabbed the piece from his hand and threw it away, stepping on his good arm to pin him down on the ground. Green and orange goo ran from his exit wounds and the broken tubes, it was obviously painful and difficult to move but he just kept going. He was fucking magnificent. Bullseye grinned despite himself.

“You should have obeyed your orders and not come after me, Bullseye,” Frank stated calmly and pointed a gun at him - not his head since he knew very well how much metal he had in his skull - but at his torso.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying, eh?” Bullseye smiled, blood-loss making him woozy.

“I can,” Frank said laconically, and pulled the trigger.

There was a secondary shot, and Bullseye saw as much as felt the bullet hit the ground next to him as Frank stumbled from the sniper shot to his hand. There weren’t that many who could have pulled that shot (but more than you’d think) but even fewer who would have interfered with Bullseye getting killed.

“The hell—?” Frank grunted and, like the war veteran he was, shot in the direction the bullet hand come while strategically retreating. A mobile target was more difficult to hit and the shooter had already gotten a drop on him once.

“I need evac,” Castle growled in his ear piece, “or tell me where the hell the shooter is. Don’t make me leave this scumbag alive.” However, he kept backing away as the shooter kept on delivering covering fire, making any further attempts at Bullseye’s life difficult.

Bullseye tried to take advantage of his distraction but he was too weak to do much good. His arm was now killing him and his entire body ached from his tussle with Castle. Everything had gone a bit fucked and there was no choice but to call it quits - for now. Cursing himself, Bullseye stumbled away from the shootout to get some decent cover.

“Another time, buddy,” he shouted and gave Frank a little wave before running, adrenalin was the only thing keeping him moving at this point. 

He didn’t stop until he’d gotten a couple blocks away where he promptly crashed. It wasn’t until then that he noticed the second gunshot wound in his lower thigh. There was no exit wound.

Sirens blared and he could hear shouting, but it all seemed to matter very little at the moment. Bullseye could recognize the symptoms of having lost far too much blood. If he didn’t get help soon he was a goner.

“I knew you were up to something, but this takes the cake. I didn’t think your crush on Castle was big enough to warrant such recklessness,” a smooth voice said and kicked him on the leg. Bullseye looked blearily up at the man, and it took him more than a while to recognize Daken. He was out of costume but not in his usual Kiton suits - instead he was wearing something black and vaguely military. He had an easier time recognizing the XM2010 sniper rifle he was carrying.

“Sonovabitch. You’re the shooter.”

“Yes, and I’ll forgive you for the insult because you look like shit,” Daken responded,”can you walk?”

“Do I look like I can?” Bullseye responded, rage growing at the sight of his aforementioned team mate but common sense dictating a cease fire. Daken sighed as if Bullseye was deliberately trying to annoy him. Which he might have been. Fuck-head deserved it on principle.

Daken ripped up his own sleeve as an impromptu bandage, binding it around Bullseye’s shoulder - ignoring the gunshot wound on his thigh - and picked him up in an embarrassing bridal hold. Daken grimaced, adjusted to his weight - adamantium wasn’t exactly light - and set a brisk pace. Vomit rose in his throat as his wounds were jostled and sweat ran down his face. Nausea and panic competed with his anger as he tried to hang on with his unhurt arm to Daken’s broad shoulders.

“I’m thinking it’s for the best if we keep this on the low-down, yes? Our little secret.” Daken placed him a car’s backseat. The car was nice with soft leather seats and high tech interior. Probably some luxury brand that would bust the moment you really did something fun with it. Despite his state, he knew that Daken would hold this - his rescue - over him, but he didn’t want to face Norman.

“Fine,” he grunted and did his best to remain conscious; he was coming down hard and fast from his previous high. Neither impotent rage nor the maddening feeling of his chest caving in on itself could keep him awake for long. He managed until they reached whatever clinic it was that took in criminals with gunshot wounds without question or calling the police. There, he slipped in and out of consciousness as they stitched him up, and that fucking faggot Daken was always there in his field of vision.

When Bullseye woke, feeling far more clear-headed but sore despite what had to be a fuck-off huge amount of drugs. 

“The fuck just died in my mouth,” he hissed and searched for some water, his vision was still a bit on the fritz. A glass was pressed into his hand and he emptied it gratefully, gulping it down in one swing and coughing violently once he had managed that. It hurt, badly, and Bullseye bit down to stop the coughing fit.

“Idiot,” Daken called him, his voice low and dark, once he stopped coughing.

“Bitch,” Bullseye grunted, mostly on principle, that petty name-calling wasn’t quite his style but he usually felt like it with Daken. Goaded by that feeling he gave into his impulses and lunged for Daken’s throat with a discarded scalpel. It was embarrassing how easily Daken countered him, grabbing his wrist and squeezing to force him to drop the knife. It clattered harmlessly to the floor.

“The doctor’s fixed you up, mostly. You’ll be weak in your left arm, at least for a while, same with your right leg. I’ve phoned Osborn and fed him a cover story. Just so you know, we both fought a bunch of mooks who thought it clever to rob the restaurant I took you out to for dinner. You got careless and they shot you,” Daken told him evenly, as if the attempted assault had never happened, and Bullseye’s jaw dropped.

“You made it sound like we were on a fucking date! And that I’m some kind of moron!” Bullseye protested, still fighting back with all he had, not quite sure what was more insulting: Norman thinking he was fucking Daken, or that some street thugs could get the drop on him.

“I was on a date tonight, and my date did get shot. He looked a bit like you. It’s a good cover,” Daken retorted calmly. Bullseye had the feeling that he had in fact staged said date as a cover. The thought for some reason gave him the creeps. He struggled vainly in Daken’s firm grip, nausea rose as he tore at his own wounds; Daken forced him back in the bed. He screamed wordlessly in Daken’s face, and kicked at him but the mutant just held him down without any comment or sign of strain - merely mild irritation colored his face. Bullseye shook under Daken’s hands - under his warm body - and all he wanted was to kill Daken. He wanted blood. He wanted—

“Breathe. Stop fighting and breathe,” Daken told him firmly. Just like that, Bullseye felt like all the fight was being drained out of him and he drew in shaky broken breaths. His indignation - as much as his physical state - overcome his anger enough to stop him from further embarrassing himself with futile outbursts.

“Here’s some clothes,” Daken said once Bullseye had settled his breathing, releasing him and giving him some civvies; jeans and a shirt. “I couldn’t get any shoes, so your boots will have to do.”

“Whatever,” Bullseye replied dismissively, his voice raw, pulling on the clothes over what was left of his costume - the upper half had been removed and presumably thrown away while he was unconscious. He dressed quickly and without further comment, leaving once he was done. For some reason the mutant tolerated this silently and just followed him out. It made him uncomfortable.

“You get me a ride home too?” Bullseye said into the night, it was still dark but morning wasn’t too far away. He must have been unconscious for hours. He felt like shit, not even angry, just like he’d been dragged through five miles of bad road.

“The car’s a few blocks away. Can you walk?” Daken asked, echoing his previous question from that night. Bullseye bit his tongue - for once - and didn’t say anything, merely nodding sharply. They walked slowly, the night air was hot, and they weren’t in a hurry.

Bullseye stopped as they walked past a hole-in-the-wall type 24/7 take-out place, some mixed Asian stuff, and his stomach grumbled loudly.

He turned back and looked - really looked - at Daken, for the first time since he woke up, finally noticing that the mutant had changed clothes at some point. Gone was the black ops ninja getup and in its place a well-fitting black suit with a v-necked tee. Fucking date-night douchebag outfit. He didn’t understand how he had failed to notice that. The drugs must have been stronger than he thought and his unwillingness to even look at Daken stronger still.

“You got cash?” Bullseye asked, his throat a bit dry. Daken nodded with a quizzical expression.

“I’m fucking starved. Let’s have a bite,” Bullseye muttered and looked away before he got too awkward to function. Bullseye wiped his hands off on his jeans, his palms were sweaty and he felt queasy.

“Are you asking me out to dinner, Lester?” Daken replied, humor in his voice, making Bullseye bristle.

“Just fucking buy me something,” he snapped and glared at Daken, feeling his cheeks heat up. Daken actually laughed but sauntered off to the take-out place, leaving Bullseye to fume alone by the sidewalk.

Bullseye dug into the take-out when Daken handed him the paper box and chopsticks. He was hungry. “Great noodles, by the way,” he said, hollow voiced, continuing to eat. The strain on his chest was easing out but he felt raw and disconnected at the same time.

“You’re welcome,” Daken replied softly.

Silence settled between them, awkward and heavy, but neither spoke as they ate and made their way to the car. Bullseye dumped the nearly empty case, took shotgun and settled into half-asleep state. Daken took the wheel.


	2. Second Date: S.H.I.E.L.D.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bullseye doesn’t like debts, not even when he wants the one he owes dead.

“Give me your best shot,” Bullseye sneered at Venom and shot him point blank in the face. The movement tore at his shoulder, his bow feeling unwieldy and cumbersome (fuck damn gimmicky toy), but his aim held. He was still Bullseye. The trick arrow exploded in Mac’s face, scattering the symbiote but not causing any greater damage.

“I’m going to enjoy this,” Mac giggled and the symbiote’s gaping maw lunged at him, fangs huge, sharp and dripping saliva. Bullseye responded by shoving his bow in Venom’s mouth, breaking teeth and making his opponent gag and choke.

“Don’t bite off more than you can chew, buddy,” Bullseye quipped while pulling another explosive arrow from his quiver, throwing it in Mac’s open mouth. Venom instinctively closed his mouth, finally breaking the bow, and the charge went off inside him a moment later. Venom stumbled and screeched in pain, clawing after him as he avoided the uncoordinated flailing with success barring a superficial cut over his left loin.

“I would kill you, but this is proving to be a bit more fun then expected,” Bullseye jeered, arrows balanced between his fingers, crouched and ready to attack. He grinned widely, enjoying himself fully, and threw three arrows that all hit their target and exploded.

“I’m gonna eat you!” Venom charged.

“That’s enough,” Norman said over the PA system. 

Venom skidded to an angry halt, the symbiote retreating.

“Good doggy,” Bullseye reveled in Mac’s obedience. Venom screeched at him, but grudgingly retreated once more to reveal an annoyed Mac Gargan.

“I just had him!” Mac protested, turning to face the spectator’s room where Norman Osborn, their batshit crazy boss, stood observing the training battle.

“You had jack, Mac.” Bullseye relaxed and putting back the unused arrows in the quiver.

“The purpose of this exercise was to observe if Hawkeye was fit for battle. Other than the unorthodox use of equipment, he’s proven himself field capable once more,” Norman remarked drily, “I’ve lost enough time as it is on this. Get ready for your next mission, my Avengers. I want you both on site in an hour.”

Despite it all, that seemed like a nice prospect. Being cooped up at the Tower wasn’t really conducive for Bullseye’s mood. His injuries had healed up, more or less, despite the fact that his shoulder was still acting up. The HAMMER doctors had patched him up with some super science medical stuff. No nanites this time (evidently you didn’t waste those on “mere” gunshot wounds) but more than good enough for being less than a week after he got himself busted up by the Punisher. Not that anyone knew about the latter - his cover story had held up, much to his consternation.

“I’m gonna pay you back for that.” Mac groused and made a face, “It really hurt!”

“Quit your whining,” Bullseye replied and swaggered off the training field to the locker rooms. Mac followed and continued his diatribe of hurt feelings. “I’ve got better things to do than to bother with you, Mac. So, get out of my face.”

“Like, what? Shaking up with Daken?” Mac leered and made kissy faces. Bullseye turned and grabbed him by the skull, slamming his face into a locker. Mac cried out in surprise.

“I know it hurts you that Karla prefers me but do try to contain yourself and man the fuck up,” Bullseye hissed at him and backed off before Mac rubbed two brain cells together and went Venom. Bullseye stormed off and fumed to himself about the damn rumor Daken had started with his “cover story”; Mac had been giving him shit about it since day one.

He got out of the costume (not his costume: Barton’s - purple - damn POS) and grabbed a towel from his locker, hitting the showers. Despite the soothing effects of the hot water, he was still pissed off when he heard Mac turn on the water a bit away from him.

“You look like shit,” Mac commented after awhile, “I could feel it when we fought, you weren’t keeping up. Only reason you didn’t lose was because Osborn cut off our fight before I even got started. Wudda killed your sorry ass.”

“I’m more than enough to kill you,” Bullseye snarled, glaring at Mac (scrawny, sickly-looking Mackie) who had the gall to threaten him.

“Nah, don’t think so,” Mac countered leaned against the wall, vomiting black goo that covered him until it was Venom who stood under the hot stream of water. “Boo.”

Bullseye froze, realizing that he was unarmed, naked and trapped in a shower with a cannibalistic nut job. Time to think fast and talk big.

“You think Osborn would let you kill me? And that’s assuming that you have the balls to even try it. Go make puppy dog eyes at Karla, maybe she’ll give you a treat,” Bullseye sneered and closed the water, grabbing his towel from the rack where he’d left it. Venom hesitated but then his eyes light up with some insight (perhaps that Bullseye was shitting him) and grinned, letting his enormous tongue lolling out of his mouth like some obscene alien prick.

“Won’t know shit if you die on the field,” Mac screeched, pleased with himself for this brilliant deduction. “You already got your ass kicked by small time fry; he won’t question something bigger.”

“Try me. I dare you,” Bullseye spat and left the shower, not letting anything show - let alone the fact that his stomach had dropped in fear and that he was cold sweating.

“You better grow eyes in your back, Bulls,” Mac cried out after him, “Your boyfriend can’t always watch it for you.”

“Tch, grow up, Mac,” Bullseye snapped, catching a glance of himself in a mirror. He did look like crap. The scarring on his shoulder was a knotted mess and he looked haggard and gray. Bullseye didn’t linger on this discovery but hurried to get re-dressed in the hated Hawkeye costume.

As he geared up with a new bow from supply, Karla met up with him.

“Norman cleared you then,” she stated in lieu of a greeting.

“Yeah, I’m good to go. You feel up for a ride?” Bullseye leered at her, checking out her bare legs and barely covered breasts. Spandex, or whatever shit she was wearing, left nearly nothing to imagination.

“Maybe,” Karla replied with a dirty wink, “but mostly I wanted to talk to you,” she continued and placed a hand on his arm, falling in step with him as they left Supply.

“I’m happy to have you back on the team, it hasn’t been the same without you,” she said with a pout and then sighed. “I don’t feel like I can rely on the others.”

Bullseye arched a brow at this, though conceding that most of the team were rather unreliable. He wondered where Karla was taking this. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew very well that Karla wanted something. Question was what.

“What? Has Venom been humping your leg again?” he asked and Karla made a face, leading him along the corridor toward the jet hanger.

“Nothing that crass. I can handle Mac on my own,” Karla replied, “it’s just that with you gone— well, things have changed. It’s been everyone for themselves and quite frankly, I don’t think the others respect you anymore. It’s not that they think you are weak but you know how it goes: you are your reputation —” She left the sentence hanging and gave him a meaningful look. “You understand, don’t you?” With that she untangled herself and walked away, giving him an ample view of her swaying ass.

Bullseye stood there, fists clenched and jaw tight, and understood perfectly well. Stiffly, he followed her into the hanger and took his seat in the jet, watching as Karla made small-talk with Daken. He clutched his chair as Daken and Karla laughed and flirted with each other.

“Guess Karla doesn’t like you that much after all,” Mac commented, leaning over and grinning at him as if it made his chances any better. Bullseye elbowed him in the face. Mac whined and clutched his nose, then the symbiote formed and snarled at him.

“Cease before I tie the both of you to the underside of the plane. You are warriors not children,” Ares ordered from his seat, giving them a stern glare until Mac settled down and Bullseye looked away. The God of War nodded in satisfaction, settled in his seat and went back to drinking beer and reading a Guns & Ammo.

Norman filled them in on the last minute mission details over the intercom: some ex-SHIELD agent had formed an unlawful “resistance” cell and were undermining HAMMERs operations. They were to terminate (nominally detain) the agents and destroy their base. Bullseye tuned out the rest, knowing he had the right to kill at will was enough for him. He fixed his gaze at Daken, and considered how much damage he could get away with.

The landing and entering of the compound was uneventful, they found no trace of the so-called resistance.

“Wolverine, do you have a scent?” Norman asked, broadcasting it to all of their earpieces.

“Yeah, they’re still here. But they’ve split up, their scent is all over the place,” Daken responded uselessly.

“Find them,” Norman barked, “I won’t be made a fool of by some disgruntled employees. I want a public victory and I want them destroyed.”

Bullseye stalked in after the rest of the team, keeping an eye on Daken and following him at a distance. It didn’t take long for them to get away far enough from the rest of the team not to bother them. Bullseye turned off his ear piece and took aim at Daken’s back; he fired.

The mutant seemed to barely shift but the arrow aimed for the back of his neck (a shot that would have taken him out clean and easy) flew harmlessly into a wall.

“Some advice. When you want to kill someone, try to be less obvious about it,” Daken remarked, facing him with an amused expression. Bullseye fired another shot, somehow it also flew wide of Daken who, without even trying, seemed to be exactly where Bullseye wasn’t aiming.

“You just couldn’t wait to get me alone and get your hands on me, I could smell in on you,” Daken continued casually, the obvious innuendo pissing Bullseye off further - as if Daken’s mere presence wasn’t enough.

“I’m going to get my hands on you alright!” he gritted and lunged after the mutant with his sword (another addition to the silly get-up that Bullseye loathed). If he had considered it for a moment he wouldn’t have; going close combat with Daken in a tight space wasn’t exactly the brightest of ideas. But Bullseye was too enraged to think straight.

“Some gratitude,” Daken purred and grabbed him by his out-stretched arm, over-balancing and disarming him in one smooth movement. Turning with the momentum, Daken maneuvered himself behind Bullseye and pressed a clawed hand to his throat while locking his arm with the other. Bullseye struggled but as he felt the prick of claws drawing blood, ever so slightly, he stilled in Daken’s grip.

“Now, how about we talk. What’s this sudden interest about?” Daken queried, scraping gently at his bare throat with his drawn claws.

“Fuck you, that’s what,” Bullseye spat and flushed.

“Oh, it’s Karla. Isn’t that cute,” Daken condescendingly, though Bullseye had no idea how he’d guessed. “Don’t worry, I’m good at sharing.”

“That’s the fucking problem - everyone thinks I’m some kind of pansy! Even Mac’s been giving me shit,” Bullseye roared, doing his best to glare at Daken in the awkward angle, while considering a way to get out of his hold. He could have done it easy if hadn’t it been his bad arm that Daken had gripped and twisted like it was nothing. He slowly slipped his free hand down and palmed the knife he had holstered to his thigh.

“That’s all? I didn’t know the mighty Bullseye was so intimidated by office gossip,” Daken remarked in a low dark voice, pressing his body tight against his, “and don’t think I didn’t notice the knife. No need to get that excited.”

“I’m not—” Bullseye started but was interrupted by the previously empty looking wall disappearing to reveal a group of soldiers armed with sub-machine guns and CQBRs. Daken, Bullseye and the renegade SHIELD agents stared at each other in mutual stunned silence. Then someone hit the unfreeze button and chaos broke loose.

Daken released him just as Bullseye threw the knife in the first agents throat, lunging past and in front him as he drew his bow. Any bullets aimed at them hit Daken squarely but barely slowed him down as he disemboweled the agent closest to him. Bullseye shot past Daken, who was keeping the agents focused on him, taking out a third agent with an arrow to the eye just as Daken tore the throat out of a fourth. Daken took out what seemed to be the last man standing by stabbing him through the chest.

For a few moments they just breathed.

“The fuck was that?” Bullseye exclaimed, lowering his bow.

“I’m guessing it was our target—” Daken said and then vomited blood, falling forward as bullets riddled him from behind. Bullseye already had several arrows in the air before Daken hit the floor, they all hit the lone agent in the chest and took him out in a spray of blood and gore as the charges exploded.

With his bow drawn and ready, Bullseye stepped over the bodies and cleared the area of any hostiles. He didn’t relax until he was certain that was the last of them. Retreating back to check on Daken, Bullseye still kept a sharp eye on his surroundings. Daken was bleeding heavily through his costume and fresh blood stained his mouth. The agents had used high caliber ammunition and torn Daken up more than Bullseye had realized. He was completely out of it. It would take a while before he healed up or even regained consciousness. Bullseye stared at him and then at the opening from where the ex-SHIELD agents had come from.

“Just fuck it,” he sighed and did a second sweep of the room that had revealed itself, this time finding a hidden trapdoor in the floor. Bullseye grimaced, returned to the dead soldiers and went through their gear. He found what he’d been looking for: an incendiary device (homemade but well made) and some concussion grenades (an MK3A2 with an M206A2 fuse if he knew his models right). He then went and promptly (and with much joy) dropped them into the trapdoor, taking immediate cover from the explosion that ensued. Any one in that tunnel wouldn’t be having a fun time.

Brushing off dust and gore, he returned to his prone team mate, still not so sure of he was going to do now. Bullseye remembered the debt he owed and debated with himself if it was even worth it. It really wasn’t.

With a long-suffering sigh and more than some disbelief, Bullseye grabbed the mutant by the arm and slung it over his shoulder, hauling Daken to his feet. He was still a mostly dead weight and it was with some effort that Bullseye dragged him with him. Cursing to himself, he made his way out.

“Hawkeye! Where have you been?!” Norman shouted as they got outside. The rest of the team was already there, hanging around and looking like they had met little to no action.

“I just took out your little SHIELD problem. I’ve got half a dozen dead agents back there and I blew up their secret escape route,” Bullseye retorted victoriously. “They took out Daken,” he added straight-faced and shrugged to indicated his unconscious and bleeding team mate hanging by his side.

“That’s — good. Very good. I’m pleased with your progress, my decision to put you back on the field was justified,” Norman said, anger deflated and puffing himself up with self-congratulating pride instead. Behind Norman, Karla was making eyes at him and Bullseye felt himself perk up a bit extra.

“Fantastic, now can we blow this joint?” Bullseye asked.

They blew up the compound.


	3. Third Date: Kaiju

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revenge is a multi-course meal.

Bullseye maneuvered the the glider cautiously; he’d never really gotten comfortable with of them. Osborn lead them past Midtown, down to lower Manhattan. Something had risen out of New York Harbor and was currently wading past Ellis Island toward Manhattan at great speed.

Rather than deciding on the strategy or any relevant information, Norman was orating through the coms (for the benefit of the media, listening in through their pro bono set’s, Bullseye suspected). He toned it out and focused on not loosing his balance on the glider. Damn thing wanted to veer to the left whenever he didn’t keep an eye on it or compensate with pressing to the right. He could see something in the distance and Norman’s chatter on the com became more insistent. As they reached the Battery Gardens, Bullseye nearly tumbled off the glider in surprise.

“Holy shi—” Bullseye breathed as he got a clear view of the monstrosity, finally managing to pull the glider to an uneasy halt. The creature was easily 50 feet tall if you counted what was still submerged in the harbor. It made Fin Fang Foom look like its little baby brother. What they did have in common was its reptilian shape and the devastating ability to crush anything in its path, evidenced by it as it staggered up onto the battery, tearing concrete and stone alike. It was many limbed and clawed, with a big toothy maw and a body covered in thick scales and what looked like an exoskeleton.

“Avengers assemble!” Norman roared and led a frontal assault (honestly, didn’t he have a brain under that ridiculous hair?). Bullseye remained behind as his team mates charged the beast, shooting arrows that merely bounced of its thick scales. What the—?

“What the HELL is that thing?!” Mac screeched in the coms, echoing Bullseye’s own thoughts. He’d been clawing at its front most legs without much success, his claws had slid off the scales and carapace.

“I have slain worse,” Ares grunted laconically in reply. “Go for the soft tissue and joints,” he advised and shot the creature in the mouth. It roared in pain.

“Sentry! Take it down,” Norman commanded as the Beast failed to retreat at his own futile aerial assault - he’d been shooting at the creature without much consideration. In response, the hero rose high and flung himself down on the monster like a bullet; it staggered and roared, then went for a counterattack that sent Sentry flying far into the sky.

There was a moment of quiet terror before Osborn’s Avengers regrouped and went for a second wave of assault. Ares was in the lead, and he was somehow keeping the Beast from advancing into city as it was focusing on him. He was targeting its softer underbelly and throat, it having bared them when in reared to its feet. Victoriously, he struck his axe into its throat and blue sludge splattered over the God of War who howled in pain and anger.

“Acid! Its forsaken blood is acid!” Ares shouted and recoiled, tearing off his corroding helmet before he once more charged, mindless of the pain and his burning skin. However, he’s lost his chance, the creature had lowered its head and body, protecting itself with its clawed feet. It had now fully crawled up onto dry land, seeming even more massive and terrifying than it had in the water, and with great clawed feet - it had six - it swiped at the much smaller figures annoying it.

Norman was shouting orders into the coms and leading his Avengers into wave after wave of attacks against its unprotected eyes, which provided ample targets as there were eight of them. Karla was having some success with her energy attacks but it seemed angry more than anything else at this point. Bullseye had lost track of Daken and Noh-Varr, he cursed their absence.

Bullseye stood his ground and took a deep breath, slowly taking aim for one of the many eyes of the Beast. Between heart beats he fired and hit bull’s eye. The arrow planted itself in the innermost left eye which started to leak blue sludge. Elated, Bullseye took aim for the next eye and then the next, fully intent on blinding the creature.

At that point Bullseye saw two familiar shapes climb the beast, it flailed and shook itself to discard them but both Daken and Noh-Varr hung on and headed for its head. They had both lost or discarded their gliders. Daken looked worse for wear, his costume and skin heavily acid burned but healing, where as alien boy seemed mostly uninjured barring a nasty burn on his face and head that had charred off a fair share of his hair. Bullseye watched as Daken’s flesh was seared off his hands and arms as he clawed into the creatures flesh, right behind its head, as Noh-Varr shot at the same spot. The Beast roared and reared itself on its back most legs, flinging its tormentors into the sea.

A panicked laughter escaped Bullseye’s lips as Daken and Noh-Varr flew into the water with a splash. He fervently readied another shot taking out yet another eye - four down, four to go, though they seemed to be healing. At this rate they would lose, he thought and burst into another fit of laughter. He laughed and kept on shooting, the glider wobbling under him as it was getting harder and harder to keep it flying straight. This wasn’t his kind of battle — he didn’t fucking well go after Godzilla.

He watched Norman get smashed into the ground and stay there in a smoldering pile, the laughter died in his throat with a choking noise. Ares was still fighting toe-to-toe with the creature, Venom was pinned under a clawed foot and Karla was trying to avoid being eaten. He needed to get out. This wasn’t fun—

“AVENGERS ASSEMBLE!” The cry came form an unfamiliar voice from behind Bullseye. Stunned, he saw the real Ms. Marvel and Spider-Woman fly past him, charging the monster. On the ground, rest of the “new” Avengers regrouped and joined the battle. Captain America and Wolverine coordinated with Ares and they fell into a battle formation around the Beast.

Relieved, Karla took the opportunity to fish out Noh-Varr and Daken out of the sea before siding with the real Ms. Marvel in a uneasy truce. Venom - freed from underneath the creature’s claws - was somehow managing to work with both the Spiders without trying to eat them. Meanwhile, Noh-Varr, sopping wet and burnt, had teamed up with Mockingbird and Power Man. Daken was still out of it but Bullseye didn’t expect that to last.

“Hey! Stop gawking, start shooting,” Hawkeye shouted at him from the ground. Bullseye startled and growled, anger filling him at the sight of the original Hawkeye. He was wearing the same dumb ninja getup from TV but yeah, it was the same guy, Clint fucking Barton.

“If your gonna wear my gear at least make an effort to use it, otherwise get the hell out of here, you nutjob,” Barton jeered and joined the battle. Bullseye fumed and barely restrained himself from killing that carnie freak right then and there. With a cry of rage, Bullseye flew at the Beast and shot two of its eyes with arrows tipped with explosive - they exploded in a cloud of blue gore.

The battle started to turn as the two teams bit by bit took the creature down, and by the time Sentry returned they had as good as won. It was blinded and crippled, bleeding heavily and screeching in pain. It was a true sight to behold when Bob finally ripped the creature’s head off, as toxic blue blood gushed down and the Golden God flung its head into the sea.

The ragged and injured Avengers stood in exhausted silence as the Beast finally fell dead, unsure of what to do with themselves or with the humongous and toxic remains of the creature.

Bullseye on the other hand had a pretty good idea of what he wanted; with a vicious and happy grin on his face he took aim at the turned back of Barton.

“Hey, Barton! Eyes up,” Bullseye shouted and released the arrow.

With this unprovoked attack, both teams now turned on each other in a chaotic and paranoid mess.

“You crazy fuck!” Hawkeye cursed, pulling the arrow out of the kevlar armor he’d been wearing, and avoided getting shot again by breaking into a run. “You don’t deserve to wear that costume! Take it off before people think you’re me!”

“Buy me dinner first!” Bullseye laughed happily and went for a second shot. Just as he was about to get killed, Barton was, for his carelessness, tackled by Mac who was holding his own against (the real) Ms. Marvel and Spider-Woman. The explosive arrow hit Venom in the face, exploding and sending him stumbling.

“You shot me in the face! Again!” Mac screeched at Bullseye, his distraction earning him a solid kicking by the two tag-teaming super heroines. Meanwhile, Barton did his best to get out of foot and claw. To his great and somewhat improbable fortune, his change of vantage made it impossible for Bullseye to shoot him without harming Mac once more. Not that he minded doing that, it just wouldn’t do him much good in the current circumstances.

“Fuck his idiot luck,” Bullseye spat, eyeing for easier prey in the meanwhile.

“Avengers, fall back!” the fake Captain America cried out, signaling for the renegade Avengers to retreat.

“Well, hello,” Bullseye crooned to himself and sent a volley of arrows at the Captain’s head. In the last moment his shield was up and took the hit, but the explosion still sent him and Spider-Man, who had been at his right, flying in a very satisfying manner.

“My Avengers! Take them out!” Norman commanded. Bullseye rolled his eyes, unimpressed by Normie’s posturing, especially since his half of the entire operation had been a clusterfuck. Ares was the only reason there was any cohesion and strategy in place; without him the beast would have eaten half of their team. Bullseye decided that he loved having a god on his side.

The shot came from nowhere and it was only by a hair that Bullseye avoided it, unfortunately it also tipped him off the glider and into the bushes. Scrambling he got to his feet and sprinted into a run before Hawkeye had the chance to take advantage of the situation. With a snarl firmly on his face, Bullseye targeted Barton and shot mid-step.

“Missed,” Barton gloated as he stood unharmed and ready to shoot.

“I don’t miss,” Bullseye informed him with glee, skidding to a halt and watched as the remains of the Beast behind Hawkeye exploded in a gooey and lethal shower of acid.

“Aww crap,” the costumed Avenger grumbled and dove for safety. Bullseye giggled a bit at that, enjoying the humiliation and pain of his enemy.

“Incoming!” the coms screeched in his ear. Bullseye looked around to find his new target, bemused and a bit irritated by the interruption.

“Fuck me—” Bullseye gasped at a giant figure that was once more crawling up out of the New York Harbor. It had somehow managed to sneak up on all them. It was twice as large as the previous beast had been, clocking at over a 100 feet. It had the same general build, reptilian and multi-limbed, but with a tail and tentacle-like semi-gelatinous appendages to add that extra level of Lovecraftian horror.

“Avengers Assemble! Damn well all of you!” Norman tensely cried, coercing the two teams into once more facing their foe in some semblance of unison. Motivated by survival, the two teams quickly settled their differences and mounted semi-coordinated an attack.

Far too close to the beast and on foot, Bullseye ran for his life and for higher ground. Excitement and adrenalin painted a grin on his face and he felt alive, aroused and fucking terrified. He felt like he was losing all self-control; all he could do was grit his teeth and fight - he felt so good. Pure. He lost himself in the slide of arrows and the mad dash of survival. It wasn’t a fight made for ground level tactics and the earth beneath him shook and cracked under the monster’s attack. It was barely that he avoided any serious damage and more than once he was flung aside by it like a rag doll.

Stumbling and lost in battle, Bullseye barely noticed it when he fought side by side with Barton, a glance and a wild laugh are all the acknowledgement he managed. Together they target the creature’s eyes, replicating the tactics of the last fight, as the heavy hitters went for the creature’s limbs and face.

He watched with awe as the two Wolverines (father and son for once cooperating smoothly) together with Ares rip and cut the creature’s face apart. Cutting off any offending limbs that attempted to defend it in a shower of acid, hacking it apart and drowning in its blood that burned them without stopping for a moment.

Blinded and angry, the creature flailed its many limbs, which were being systematically cut off by the frenzied heroes. Everyone was on their last reserves and no one was holding back a single bit, all and any feelings of aggression were targeted at the monster. The battle was twice as gory and dangerous as the first but far more coordinated and purposeful.

Bullseye burst into laughter as Spider-Man and Venom webbed the beast’s head and pulled it back, barring it’s throat and open maw. Sentry flew into its mouth and, with a feat of strength that no one had thought possible, ripped off the upper half of it’s skull with his bare hands in an explosion of bright light and blue goo. The assembled Avengers barely avoided getting completely drenched the stuff and for a moment everyone held their breaths in vigilant anticipation.

Nothing happened.

Norman ordered Sentry and Karla to check the waters for any more creatures but neither of them found any trace. After that, the aftermath fell into disarray, clean-up and civilian forces swarmed in and in the chaos the New Avengers disappear, limping away unmolested as no one really felt like fighting anymore. Stormin’ Norman, in full patriotic fervor, held a press conference posing on top of the head of the fallen Beast, which lay oozing acid on the ruined lawn of the Battery Gardens, claiming it a great victory for his true Avengers. The media ate it all up.

At this point, Bullseye didn’t care a single fuck. He was tired beyond measure and coming down from his previous high like a brick. His injured body protested at every movement and he just wanted to sleep.

Relocating back at the Tower via medical evac, Bullseye crashed in his room, barely managing to undress and shower before crawling into bed. The medics had cleared him and sent him packing to make room for the truly injured but that didn’t mean he felt anywhere near alright. He felt like he’d been bit by a truck. In fact, he’d merely been winged by the second monster’s tentacle. It had felt like someone had pressed all the air out of him while painting him black and blue - hadn’t it been for the adamantium it would have crushed several bones.With a groan, Bullseye stretched and tried to make himself comfortable, flopping on his stomach when his shoulders protested. His old injury echoed in consort with his new blooming bruises.

The knock at his door barely warranted a grunt and he decidedly ignored it. Daken sauntered in uninvited to his room, dressed, uncharacteristically enough, casually in a tank tee and sweatpants; the full extent of his injuries was quite visible for all to see. He looked like he’d had a fight against a lawnmower in a flaming inferno; his face was halfway gone and his arms were wrapped in bandages up to his shoulders. Rather redundantly, Bullseye figured, since he’d be fine in a few hours regardless. Then again they might have been there to keep his arms from falling off.

“Fuck off. I’m too beat to bother with you,” he grumbled and threw a pillow at Daken. It hit him squarely in the face, his team mate hadn’t even tried to dodge it, and fell to the floor with a sad little thump.

“What? Before I even tell you why I’m here?” Daken asked, fake petulance and that constant underlying flirtation coloring his voice. Bullseye felt his eyes on his mostly naked body; he had stripped down to just his boxers and lay on top of the covers.

“Yes,” Bullseye retorted, glaring at his team mate. “I want you to go and fuck off in the general direction of ‘go drown yourself’ and leave me to my bed.”

“How ungrateful,” Daken huffed and sat down on the bed by his feet.

“I owe you nothing. We’re even,” Bullseye snapped and kicked at him, referring to their previous little arrangement. Daken merely caught his leg and held it, firmly enough that Bullseye couldn’t free himself but without trying to inflict pain. The movement must have hurt him however, as Bullseye could see the bandages bloom red with blood.

“What do you want?” Bullseye groused, letting his head fall back into his pillow with a tired thud. Daken released his foot, only to caress his calves, he could feel the wet smears of blood the mutant was painting on him. The smell and feel of it set his teeth at an edge, put a growl in his throat and heat in the pit of his belly. He wanted to act but it felt like his body was melting under Daken’s touch.

“I’m starting to think you’re deliberately trying me make me jealous,” Daken purred. Bullseye shot him a flat stare over his shoulder, confused more than angry by the seeming non-sequitur. Say what?

“I mean, really, you do obsess over all these men. I’m feeling left out,” Daken continued with a pout. Bullseye growled and kicked once more at Daken, forcing his body to move despite the desire to just rest. He had no intention of continuing to humor Daken if the asshole just intended to play gay chicken with him again. He had enough of that as it was.

“Tut tut, I thought we were past these needless hostilities,” Daken admonished him and stopped his kicking with ease by lying on top of his legs, pinning them down with his warm body. Bullseye cursed and grabbed the knife beneath his pillow. Daken sighed at his antics and held up his bloodied hands in surrender. He didn’t however, shift off him.

“I know what you want. You want to go after Hawkeye. I saw the look you gave him. But, think for a moment. If you sneak off - again - to fight your little feuds Norman will pay attention. I won’t be able to cover for you,” Daken explained, Bullseye decided not to stab him at the moment. He was right after all (to Bullseye’s great annoyance). He hadn’t really thought about it but he realized that he had decided to hunt Barton down the moment their fight had been interrupted. He wanted revenge. He wanted to smash Barton’s sanctimonious face in and use him for target practice. But he did not want to involve Daken.

“I don’t need your help. Get off me, before I carve what’s left of your face off,” Bullseye countered, trying to look a bit more threatening than his circumstances wanted to dictate: half-naked, bruised and pinned under Daken like some little whore. The thought made him flinch and tense before he could stop himself.

“But you do. Now, the easiest thing to do would be to get Norman to send you where you want to be,” Daken continued, his usual low voice even softer, and obligingly shifted off him, settling down on the bed in a half-sitting sprawl opposite him. The air felt cold and Bullseye bristled at the realization that he hated the absence of Daken’s warmth - that he on some level wanted Daken to touch him. He tried not to think about it.

“And how do you suppose that’s done?” Bullseye asked warily, and turned to face Daken fully (a far less exposed position), leaning on his elbows and pulling his legs up, knife still in hand. He had no intention of letting his guard down with Daken, the feral mutant was far too mercurial. Also, he still wanted him dead — nevermind any other desires.

“Simply by telling him what he wants to hear,” Daken said softly, nearly coyly, fiddling with his sheets and leaving bloodied smears, “Norman wants us to hunt down any unlawful activities - the New Avengers in particular after today’s stunt. Give him a target and set yourself up as the perfect weapon,” he purred and lay down, his hair falling down over his burnt face. He managed to look far too pretty with half his face missing.

“What do you gain out of it?” Bullseye demanded, keeping the deep baritone growl of unwanted arousal out of his voice, determined to keep his mind on track.

“Entertainment. I’m so very bored. Furthermore, I couldn’t very well abandon my dear friend in his hour of need,” Daken replied with a smile and a lazy wink, stretching like a big cat over his bed. Bullseye eyed him with deeply set suspicion; it was a good plan but he didn’t like the company.

“We’re not friends,” Bullseye spat and kicked at Daken’s stomach. Daken caught his foot and they stared at each other in silence; the standstill held until Daken let it go with a mocking smirk. Bullseye grimaced and pulled back hard with a shiver. The feral mutant’s touch unnerved him and having his skin smeared in Daken’s blood didn’t make things better. The scent of blood was making his heart race and made heat puddle in his groin.

“As you wish. I can set everything up, give it a legitimate target and even bring home some convincing evidence to fool Norman. If you’re willing, we can have a night out without ringing any alarms or suspicions,” Daken countered with a dirty little grin, sprawling once more on his bed - comfortable and casual as can be.

That wouldn’t do at all, Bullseye thought with vengeance and pounced, straddling and looming low over Daken with the knife to his throat. “If you fuck with me. Even for a moment. I’ll kill you. I’ll find a way to make it stick even if it’s the last thing I do,” he hissed. It felt good to have Daken’s bared throat under his knife, to have his body under his, warm and bleeding. Bullseye pressed the knife down, drawing fresh blood but not enough to truly harm.

“Yes, I believe you,” Daken murmured, staring at him from under long lashes and heavy lids. The tension held as they sized each other. Satisfied and terrified at the same time, Bullseye set aside the knife and climbed off him. The amount of self-control it took him was nearly painful.

“Fuck off. I intend to sleep for a week,” Bullseye groused and kicked Daken off his bed toward to the door.

“Do you want company?” Daken leered and lingered by the open door with that aggravating smile of his, glancing down at his body.

“Not in a million years,” Bullseye hissed in annoyance and recoiled at his hungry looks.

“See you later then,” Daken laughed and blew kiss at him, sauntering away with the same cocky self-assurance as he had come with. Bullseye shuddered and closed the door with a resounding slam. He leaned against it and tried to collect himself, the unwanted erection he was sporting a shameful reminder of how well that was going.

Meanwhile, Venom detached himself from the shadows on the ceiling, tasting the air with his tongue and grinning into the empty hallway. “Gottcha.”


	4. Fourth Date: Barton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bullseye plays along; something like trust.

“You said you had a plan,” Bullseye hissed, dragging Daken aside, “I haven’t seen shit from you!”

“This really isn’t the time or the place,” Daken said, removing Bullseye’s hand from his shoulder casually.

“It is if I say it is,” Bullseye growled and slammed him against a locker. The noise echoed between stainless steel lockers and tiled walls, Daken snarled back at him at the manhandling. He was tired of Daken’s stalling, he wanted answers or, better yet, he wanted something to kill. 

“I have it in check,” Daken retorted, composing himself, and flashing him a toothy smile. Bullseye felt the urge to smash his teeth in but restrained himself to slamming him against the locker again. This time, Daken just grinned wider and writhed in his grip in a distracting manner. He was nearly naked, stripped down to his underwear – both of them were – sweaty after Norman’s newly mandated group training sessions. Evidently, they weren’t “synergistic” enough, whatever that meant.

“Let’s move this to my room – unless you can’t keep your hands off me long enough for that,” Daken purred and pressed his thigh at Bullseye’s barely covered groin. Regardless of any physical response, Bullseye was undeterred and had no intention of being side-tracked.

“You give a something now, or I swear to God I’ll cut it out of you,” he hissed, using his own body to corner the mutant against the locker – he could have sworn that Daken’s breath hitched at that.

“If I must,” Daken sighed, ”Some rather incriminating material has ended up in the hands of the press. That’s just a beginning of Mr. Barton’s troubles. From there on out it’ll just get worse. It will all crescendo in you slaughtering him like a pig for everyone to watch – and they’ll be rooting for you, satisfied?” he continued in a hushed voice.

Bullseye grinned with excitement (this despite the intentional vagueness of Daken’s promises) and a low growl slipped him, resonating in his chest and painting a pleased smile on the mutant’s face.

“For fuck's sake, get a room,” Mac interrupted, he was fresh from the showers and dripping wet, the symbiont for once not covering him like a second skin , with just a towel around his scrawny waist.

“I don’t wanna watch you two get your freak on. But, guess that means Karla’s free for grabs,” he added as an afterthought with a sickly grin. 

“No one cares what you think, Gargan. So, fuck off, we’re having a private conversation,” Bullseye responded without looking at him.

“Kinda private conversation you have in a public place, evidently. You ain’t exactly discrete with your sneaking around,” Mac said, “all kinds of people are catching up on that, Bulls.”

“You threatening me? Didn’t we fucking well have this conversation already, Mackie?” Bullseye spat and stepped away from Daken, starting to get pissed at this grudge Gargan was holding. He couldn’t have the creep sneaking up on him all the time – especially not now.

“You’re all kinds of tough now. Last time was a different tune, could taste your fear then,” Mac said, voice voice growing gurgling and distorted with tendrils of black goo were slipping out from his mouth.

“You really don’t want to pick a fight with the both of us, Gargan,” Daken intervened, gone was the smile and flirtation, leaving just the stone cold killer underneath.

“Your boyfriend's still watching your back, I see,” Mac mocked, and now more and more of the symbiont was pouring out of him and covering him. It was sickening to look at, Bullseye could feel his own stomach turn and goosebumps on his skin. He gritted his teeth and scanned for a weapon, the locker was painfully devoid of anything useful – just stainless steel lockers and bolted down benches.

“Leave it, Gargan. Don’t make it something you can’t win,” Daken sneered. Mac glared at him but he held his ground — Mac was the first to look away.

“I’m taking a shower now,” Daken announced and went back to his locker, getting a towel. Bullseye and Mac continued their standstill for a few minutes longer until Mac hissed at him and slunk away.

“There’s two things you have to keep in mind with him. One, Gargan is a coward. Two, the symbiont is an animal,” Daken said, patting him on the shoulder, as he passed him by on his way back from the showers.

“Fucking freak gives me the creeps,” Bullseye muttered, “have to deal with him.”

“One thing at the time, Lester,” Daken said over his shoulder and went to the Turkish sauna.

Bullseye had taken two steps forward before he stopped himself. The last thing he wanted was to be naked in a room with Daken – especially not since the last time Daken had gotten into his personal space. Instead, he waited and slunk into the showers, pretending that he didn’t notice the smirk on the mutant’s face.

A cold shower later and a change of clothes, Bullseye felt more like himself. They had no missions that days, but that didn’t exactly help his mood. Instead it made him increasing aware of both Daken and of Mac’s habit of being aware of the both of them. It was a not-so-fun little game of cat and mouse, and Bullseye refused to be the mouse.

After dinner, the first results of whatever Daken had been up to the past week showed up with a bang. Norman called an emergency meeting and started spitting gall at them the moment they came in. Not that Stormin’ Norman was making much sense, other than he really wanted to kill someone and that they’d better start giving up names before he decided to go for the one he found the least useful.

“Norman, think of your blood pressure,” Karla remarked very calmly, in her best psychologist bedside manner voice, “take a deep breath and, please, inform us what happened in a more orderly manner.”

“Someone leaked confidential material to the press,” Victoria announced when it became clear that it would take Osborn a few minutes to control himself, while working on her tablet.

Bullseye managed not to glance at Daken – though he would have bet money on that the sly fuck was making the most clueless innocent face ever.

“How intriguing,” Karla purred, leaning forward on her elbows and gesticulating with her left hand, “do tell.”

“I think the evening news illustrate it the best,” Victoria replied drily and turned on the big screen on the wall. All the channels were airing the same story: Clint Barton’s attack on the Tower and attempted murder on Osborn.

“—vigilante Clint Barton was caught on tape shooting down agents of H.A.M.M.E.R. while assaulting Avengers Tower—”

“—Avengers compromised? Can our national security be upheld when a vigilante on a one-man-war can just waltz in—”

“—two Avengers brutally shot down and Director Osborn under threat--”

“Turn it off,” Norman growled, Victoria complied curtly.

“Well, that was illuminating – and not my best angle,” Daken commented, referring to the brief shot of his and Barton’s fight (it hardly showed anything; an unidentifiable man with claws being shot down with an arrow). This time Bullseye did look at him and, just as expected, he looked like the very picture of an innocent bystander. 

“We’ve been made to look like a laughing stock – and we have a security leak,” Norman growled and paced, glaring at them.

“Just do what you always do, Osborn. Spin it, Barton the killer vigilante, whatever sells,” Daken commented and picked at his black painted nails. Norman spun on him like a predator and hammered down on the table with his open palm.The noise would have startled if the entire room hadn’t been populated by seasoned killers, instead it seemed to suck all the noise out.

“Do you have anything else to add, Daken?” Norman asked with a growl in his voice, Daken blinked owlishly.

“Are you implying—? Now, why would I leak material that makes me look bad and wins me nothing? Please, Norman, do credit me with half a brain,” Daken replied and didn’t flinch in the slightest. Bullseye had to admire that kind of balls, Osborn wasn’t to be underestimated, but Daken’s statement did make him think twice. What was Daken’s angle? 

“He has a point. It really does paint Mr. Barton in a poor light, we can spin this,” Victoria pointed out, clicking and working on her tablet, “We just need to get ahead of the news flow and steer the story in our favor. Shall I schedule a press conference, Director Osborn?”

There was a moment of indecision as the wheels in Norman’s head turned, but then the decision was made. In a flurry of activity the press conference was set up, and within a few hours, the Avengers and the press were lined up for Norman’s heartfelt speech. Suddenly, there were five dead H.A.M.M.E.R. agents with grieving widows and children, Barton was a killer, a national threat, and the New Avengers had freed a dangerous man onto the streets of New York.

And everyone bought it.

“I can’t believe it. They hate him,” Bullseye said gleefully, watching the news with barely contained excitement. The shit storm Osborn (with Daken’s covert help) had kicked off was relentless, Clint Barton’s life was publicly dissected to pieces – all from his criminal past and imprisoned crook of a brother to his rocky relationships and his very public declaration of war on Osborn. It was wonderful.

“And it’s just starting,” Daken commented, sitting on the back of the couch, looking down at him and the screen.

“Let’s go kill him now,” Bullseye suggested with a happy grin.

“Unless you know where he is, that’s going to be a bit difficult,” Daken remarked and leaned down low, speaking in a hushed tone.

“It’s not that hard to find someone like him,” Bullseye said and stared back at he screen, captivated by the sight of of enemy’s life and good name being dragged through the mud. “I bet you I could find him in less than a five days. If you got off your ass, fuckhead, we could do it today.”

“Patience, Lester,” Daken urged and placed a hand on his shoulder, far too close to his throat for comfort. Bullseye could feel his cool fingers and the gentle scrape of nails against his skin, a ghost like flicker across his jugular, and for a few moments he froze.

The sound of Mac arguing with Victoria in the hallway outside brought him back and made him slap away Daken’s hand.

“— it’s so far removed from the realm of acceptable behavior that I’m lost for words, Mr. Gargan. And I swear if I ever get to hear that you’ve done it again I’ll personally throw you in the deepest hole I can find, do you understand me?” Victoria’s agitated voice berated and there was a grumble from Mac.

“—that’s good and all, Mr. Gargan. From here on out, if you want anything approach the aides or myself if need be. In the meanwhile, you might as well have this—”

“What the hell was that about?” Bullseye wondered and watched as Mac hurried along with something pressed to his chest. It was for all appearances a little girl’s pink Hello Kitty notebook.

“If I heard it right, Mac stole from a little girl called Macy,” Daken responded flatly.

“You shitting me?” Bullseye asked, staring disbelievingly at him.

“I’m not,” Daken said, “I wish I was.”

“Fucking looney bin,” Bullseye stated, shaking his head. “So, what now?”

“Now, we wait a little while. Flushing out Barton is the next step, but we need Norman on board. Better yet, we need him to think it’s his idea,” Daken said, “I’ll start working him. Feel free to badger him about going after Barton. Just be your charming self.”

“Fuck you too. Why should I trust anything you say?” Bullseye spat, suspicious and annoyed by the constant vagueness. He hated moving without intel.

“I’m hurt,” Daken pouted, the very picture of hurt feelings with his hand pressed to his chest and recoiling figure, “I thought we’d worked out the difficulties of our relationship.”

Bullseye wanted to punch him in the face for it, rip off those stupid lacquered nails, make him scream. But he knew where that merry chase wanted to go these days.

“I don’t fucking care,” he gritted instead and stalked away, pretending that he hadn’t just run away from the feral mutant and his stupid mind games.

The next few days were agony. Norman was sending them on routine missions and seemed satisfied to let the media do all the work on Barton, regardless of how much Bullseye demanded action. Once again, he didn’t see jack from Daken and he was ready to personally gut the mutant by the end of the week when they were called up to Norman’s office.

“Hawkeye, Wolverine. I have a mission for the both of you,” Norman announced, and the use of the code names really pissed Bullseye off, especially in the current circumstances. “There is a prison transport needs some extra security on its way to the Raft,” Norman continued evenly, steepling his fingers while resting his elbows on his desk.

“A prison transport? Are you out of your cornrowed head, Normie? I’m not going to babysit some fuckin—” Bullseye roared at the idea that he, a master assassin and Avenger, would be wasted on demeaning grunt work like that. If it was a punitive exercise then Bullseye had every intention of telling him to shove it up his—

“ENOUGH,” Norman ordered and slammed his hand down on his desk, standing up and leaning forward. “You will do what I tell you to do, Hawkeye.”

“With all due respect, why would a regular prison transport need two Avengers escorting it?” Daken interrupted smoothly and something about his tone gave Bullseye pause.

“We have reason to believe that there will be a rescue attempt,” Norman said, all self-satisfied smiles again. Bullseye’s brow furrowed in bemusement.

“What can we expect?” Daken asked, and Bullseye knew that moment that Daken knew exactly what.

“The vigilante and criminal Clint Barton,” Norman declared, with all the vicious glee of a powerful man scorned. Daken had done it; he didn’t know how, but the sneaky fucker had pulled it off.

“I told that you would have a chance to prove yourself and bring Barton in, view it as a reward for your good work,” Norman continued, addressing Bullseye once more. Bullseye didn’t bothered to hide his own smile or satisfaction.

“Who is the source? Is the intel solid?” Daken asked with a frown, and Bullseye glared at him.

“Who the fuck cares?” Bullseye exclaimed. Why the hell was he working against this?

“My sources are good, Wolverine. Do not question me. We are transporting a person of interest pending his execution - Barton is expected to attempt a break-out. That’s all you need to know,” Norman stated and glared at Daken, the two men postured until Daken nodded his assent, seemingly very reluctantly.

“Good. You’ll be moving in with minimal support to lull him into a false security and trap him as he goes for his move. Any other details you need will be in your mission brief en route. Bring me Barton,” Norman dismissed them and settled behind his desk again. Bullseye and Daken left the office briskly.

“What the hell was that about –“ Bullseye started but Daken hushed him, making him bristle.

“Keep walking,” Daken hissed and held his pace down the hall towards the elevator. After a few turns down, Daken pulled him into a corner.

“Well done, your performance sold it,” Daken purred into his ear,”This is a dead angle, so we can talk briefly.”

“What was that about?” Bullseye asked and furtively glanced around. He realized that for any bystanders it would look like they were getting— intimate rather than anything else. He’d done much the same with Karla.

“I needed to know if he suspected anything,” Daken whispered, wrapping his arms around him, “I don’t want any involvement to be traced back to me, let alone that I’ve compromised his precious sources. You won’t believe the bother I went though to feed him the idea. Been keeping me far too busy.”

“It’s fake?” Bullseye hissed a bit too loudly, fighting to urge to push the mutant away from himself as well as to pull him closer.

“No, not at all. Barton will show. Norman will just think it’s all his own doing,” Daken murmured and now Bullseye did grab him by the throat and pressed him into the wall.

“It better work,” Bullseye growled and felt claws at his sides, a gentle warning. He ignored it.

“It’ll work,” Daken confirmed. He was right, and it was not like Bullseye had a better idea. Bullseye let go and went for the elevator, bumping into a terrified office worker, and he could feel Daken smiling at him.

Bullseye breathed a sigh of relief as the elevator doors closed and he was left alone for the rest of the trip down. He made a point of avoid Daken as much as physically possible - it still felt too close.

Regardless, the trip on site was blissfully event-less and the first thirty minutes of guarding the armored van quickly became horribly boring. Bullseye was seated in the van with the black bagged and chained prisoners. He had originally wanted to be on top of the van but it was raining and it would have been inconvenient as it was – Daken was up front with the driver.

He wasted his time trying to guess which one of the six men in orange on the transport was Barton’s target. He had a good feeling about prisoner #003289, he was fidgety in a different manner than the others.

The sudden explosion rocked the entire van and would have sent Bullseye flying if hadn’t he been bracing himself as the truck veered off the street, colliding with something. The inmates, on the other hand, were chained to their seats and more secure, but they were still thrown about considerably.

The doors were opened and a man in a mask threw something in, reflex had Bullseye shielding himself from it but it was too late. The sonic explosion that ensued sent him to his knees for several seconds.

Blearily, clambered to his feet, assaulting man’s turned back as he tried to free one of the prisoners. Bullseye might not be a hand-to-hand specialist and close quarters weren’t his forte, but he had enough training to cause some serious damage.

He had the masked man in a choke-hold with a quick and experienced move and forced him to his knees while ripping off the mask to reveal Clint Barton. Bullseye would have taunted him but he couldn’t hear his own voice, his head still ached, so he settled for the feeling of Barton struggling to breathe. It was great; he’d always liked choking people if there wasn’t something to stab them with. 

The hit to the side of his head came as surprise, and he lost his grip on Barton as he stumbled away. Turning to face whoever had attacked him, he was punched in a quick follow-up — prisoner #003289 was free and un-hooded. He looked like an average guy with reddish brown hair and it took Bullseye a few moments to recognize him as Barton’s no-good brother from the old photos that had been shown on TV.

“Two for the price of one,” Bullseye spat, blood dripping from his nose, and intercepted the next punch. Barney Barton wasn’t a bad fighter, he fought dirty and he’d had some professional training, and foremost he knew how to take a beating. Bullseye gave him one.

“You wish, psycho,” the older Barton grunted, “Get up, chickenbutt.”

“Aww, man,” the younger Barton coughed, “I was supposed to be saving you.”

“Didn’t think you’d come, death row or not,” Barney replied quietly.

“Not about you. Osborn’s and this freak are out to get me, couldn’t let them kill you just to spite me,” Clint grumbled.

“Sorry to break the reunion, but you’re not going anywhere,” Bullseye grinned and pulled arrows from his quiver, stabbing them down at Barney who chose that moment to use another convict as a meat shield.

“Nice trick,” Bullseye laughed and avoided being blind-sided by Clint who kicked at him. It was hell to fight in the confined space and with an opponents on either side of him it was worse yet. Bullseye fought best as he could but it didn’t take long for the combined efforts of the Barton brothers to pin him down for long enough for them to escape the van.

The entire fight had taken less than three minutes.

—where they fucking Hell was Daken?

Grabbing his bow, Bullseye pursued the escaping brothers. He barely paid any attention to the the totalled front of the van, but a steel bar, from the truck they had crashed into, had crushed the front window.

Ignoring it for now, he ran around the corner, catching sight of the fleeing brothers. Visibility was poor in the rain and he was still off balance from the sonic explosion, but he shrugged it off. Stopping and taking a deep breath, Bullseye took aim and fired. The scream that echoed painted a grin on his face; he’d caught to older Barton in the thigh and sent him flying. 

The next shot would have pierced Barton the younger’s head like a ripe melon, but a red Bugatti swerved between him and his targets. Two women – a redhead and a blonde — pulled the brothers on board and despite Bullseye’s best efforts drove away with them.

Screaming in rage, Bullseye went back to the van to see if he could hail some support – he’d lost his ear piece in the struggle. Norman’s stupid idea of a low-key mission was biting them in the ass. 

Back at the van he forced the front door open on the driver’s side, the driver was knocked out cold, but the on-board radio seemed to work well enough. That was when he found out what had happened to Daken.

The steel bar had pierced the wind-shield, but not only that, it had also impaled its way through Daken at chest height, pinning him to his seat. The mutant was unconscious, white as a sheet, and bleeding like a stuck pig. It was a macabre display and Bullseye wished he’d done it himself, but it was highly inconvenient.

“Fucking stupid plan, Daken,” Bullseye groused, but he didn’t blame him particularly. He’d let the brothers get the drop on him.

Calling in the situation and settling in for the meltdown Norman would have, Bullseye turned on the radio for some classic jazz and blues, seating himself in the driver’s seat (the driver was currently enjoying the curb with his throat slit). He had to wait nearly eight minutes before anyone arrived – and it was the NYPD who were first on the scene. But Daken was good company, the smell of his blood and his silence were soothing his disappointment.

Bullseye had been right about Norman throwing a fit — and since Daken was currently in the infirmary having his body stitched back together, he was the one to take the brunt of it. The moment he got back to the Tower, threats of replacements were thrown about, and frothy ranting about his limited usefulness. However, this diatribe was surprisingly enough curbed by Victoria Hand who reminded Norman of his decision to – despite her adamant objections – to remove additional support from the mission.

Bullseye was mercifully dismissed as the conversation moved to the “who else can we pin it on?” stage. Evidently, the NYPD would get that portion of the shit storm and the Avengers involvement would never be mentioned. This had officially never happened. Barton would continue to be public enemy #1 for having sprung his brother out together with four other highly dangerous criminals, killing one convict and the driver in the process.

Tired and pissed off, Bullseye headed back to his room, stopping when he caught sight of Mac and Karla across the hall. Mac was fawning over Karla like some starry-eyed kid, like usual. They didn’t seem to notice him, so he stayed back and decided to listen in. He couldn’t quite hear what they were saying but Mac seemed to be trying to convince Karla of something, she wasn’t quite buying it but neither was she trying to get rid of him.

Annoyed and pensive, he slunk past them to his room. After a long shower, and decorating the ceiling above his bed with playing cards and knives, he called it a night.

Bullseye woke up with a knife in his hand and ready to fight, it was well past midnight and someone was in his room.

“I’m impressed,” a familiar voice remarked and a shape emerged from the corner. “The moment I let my guard down you woke up, good instincts.”

“I need them for your creeps like you, Daken. The fuck are you doing in my room? Aren’t you supposed to be in the infirmary?” Bullseye spat and turned on the bedside lamp, relaxing slightly. Daken was in his sweatpants again (Bullseye liked it better than the damn suits) and bandaged up like a mummy from the waist to his shoulders, there was blood staining him, a big blotch a bit to the left of his chest that was slowly running down and seeping though. It was actually rather aesthetic.

"I left. I’m not a big fan of being told what to do," Daken shrugged and sauntered to to bed, sitting down, just like he had that night. "I wanted to talk to you, tell you that it’s not over yet."

"Oh yeah? And that just couldn’t wait to morning? What makes you think that I want to continue any of this?” Bullseye asked, glaring at him. Daken smiled and lay down on the bed next to him - Bullseye didn’t stop him. He still felt half-asleep and things didn’t quite feel real. It was like he was moving through a drugged haze.

"Because I gave you exactly what you wanted, Lester. You got Barton. I can get him for you again," Daken explained softly, eyes dark under lush lashes, "Barton suffers even more now, he’s angry and cornered. He blames Osborn and he blames you. Everything is still on track."

"You planned for this?" Bullseye asked, somewhat incredulous, lying on his side leaning on on elbow while facing Daken, knife forgotten and falling off the bed.

"I plan for contingencies," Daken clarified with a smile, resting a finger on his lower lip. Bullseye stared, his lips were suddenly very distracting, and he could feel a flush spread on his cheeks. He didn’t move as Daken leaned forward, close enough for him to feel his breath on his skin. Neither of them moved.

"I’m tired; I lost too much blood," Daken murmured finally, settling down on his pillow, "I think I’ll sleep here with you."

Bullseye didn’t dare breathe for a moment, watching as Daken fell asleep. Then, without any further thought, he lay down again, turned off the light and went back to sleep, telling himself that it was all a hallucination. 

He woke a second time with the sun - he’d forgotten to shut the blinds the night before - he shifted away from the bright rays and bumped into the warm body next to him. Alarmed and suddenly very awake, Bullseye turned fully and faced his guest.

Sleeping peacefully next to him, half-dressed and lying slightly curled up with his knees pulled high, was Daken. Like a cold shower, he remembered Daken’s late night intrusion, their conversation, and then for some reason letting him sleep in his bed.

Had he taken too many pills the night before?

Had he skipped too many pills?

Horrified, Bullseye stared at him and tried his best to kill his morning wood and any lingering arousal. Daken shifted in his sleep, sprawling onto his back with one arm on his hip, highlighting the fact that he wasn’t wearing any underwear underneath his sweatpants and that he was visibly hard under the soft cotton.

The only solution Bullseye could think of was to kill him before he woke up. It was the most practical solution, he told himself and searched for the knife he’d wielded the night before. It was proving to be very illusive — and the rest of his easy to reach weaponry were currently embedded in his ceiling.

"Morning," Daken greeted and Bullseye froze like a deer in the highlights at the sound of it.

"Thanks for letting me sleep here — I like your bed," Daken continued casually, stretching like an overgrown cat and yawning widely.

"—gkt," Bullseye gulped and tried not to stare at Daken’s body.

"Hmm? Did you say something?" the feral mutant purred, amused.

"—get out," Bullseye repeated more coherently.

"You really have no manners, dear," Daken said with a sleepy smile and laughed like there was something funny about the whole situation. "But if you want me to, I’ll go. Just say the word."

"I—I want—," Bullseye stammered, losing himself in what he wanted.

"Yes?" Daken asked, leaning in close, still smiling.

Bullseye panicked and reacted. His fist hit Daken in the face hard enough to break his nose and to make blood gush violently from it.

“Fuck!” Daken cried out, mostly in surprise, and instinctively pressed his hands to his face. Bullseye looked at him mutely as blood stained his hands and the sheets, blooming red flowers and small puddles. The vaguely hysterical snigger started unbidden, and a few moments later he was laughing whole-heartedly. Now, it was Daken who stared at him.

"I should teach you some manners," Daken complained after a while, but grinned a blood-stained smile at him.

Then he made a thoughtful face and lunged, grabbing Bullseye by the sides of his head and kissing him on the lips, stunning him once more.

Tasting blood, Bullseye licked his lips and tried not to think about it.


	5. Fifth Date: Daken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riot control and lack of control. New plans.

The kiss stopped all brain function for a few moments, denial and a desire to run kicked in seconds later. Daken’s hands were still on him, and he could taste his blood. He desperately needed to get away.

“Don’t you fucking touch me!” Bullseye snarled, pulling back and trying to get some control over himself and the situation.

“You weren’t complaining before—” Daken purred and reached for him, crawling on his knees.

He struck instinctively at Daken, prompting the mutant to release his claws, but, having expected it, Bullseye grabbed him by a sharp claw and broke the bone back against his hand with a brutal twist. Blood, his own and Daken’s, flowed between his fingers, but it was worth it when Daken howled, pulling back and cradling his left hand.

“Fuck!” he sobbed, and curled up on Bullseye’s bed, blood-stained sheets blooming even redder as he bled. The vulnerable, nearly childish position itched at Bullseye’s mind like a fresh wound, unsettling his balance. He didn’t like it. It put his teeth on edge and prodded at places in his brain he preferred to keep untouched.

“No, fuck you,” Bullseye spat, still tasting Daken’s blood and saliva, “Get out.” His voice trembled, and it was hard to put the words together, his own hysterical laughter still echoing in his ears. The ridiculousness of the situation wasn’t lost on him.

“Or what?” Daken asked in a harsh, low voice, not looking up from his injured hand, his messy mop of a mohawk falling over his face. Violence was there and it was preferable to any faked vulnerability.

“I’ll fucking kill you, you piece of trash.”

“You won’t.”

“I’m not playing any of your fucking games—”

Daken pulled himself into a sitting position by grabbing Bullseye by the collar of his t-shirt with his uninjured hand and, once more, pressed bloodied lips to his. Again, the kiss killed any thought Bullseye might have been having.

Bloodied and crippled, hanging on to him shakily, Daken murmured, “You already are.”

Without much thought, his hands were around Daken’s throat and they fell into the bed again. There was a sense of security in this, normality asserting itself, but it wasn’t enough to make Bullseye feel like himself. Needing to feel real, he crushed Daken’s windpipe and focused on the little noises of him choking.

Daken’s hands were up in his face and smearing blood on him like deranged warpaint. As his fingers grazed Bullseye’s lips, following a stray impulse, he took them in his mouth and sucked until he could no longer taste blood. The action didn’t quite register, and as Daken’s fingers slipped wetly past his lips, smearing saliva and blood across his chin, he realized with a dark chuckle that he didn’t care.

Daken’s eyes, blown wide and mad, were rolling back in his head, and his mouth was open and gasping, his teeth bloodstained. Bullseye licked the blood off his teeth and bit his lips a bright red. Daken squirmed and writhed, but he didn’t struggle. Releasing his grip slightly, he allowed the mutant a ragged breath before pressing their mouths together and drawing the breath out of him, sucking at his tongue and tasting more blood. Daken kissed him back with equal force and it felt like a fight, a challenge Bullseye couldn’t back away from.

He let go of Daken’s throat, tangling one hand in his hair instead pulling him up and making him bare his throat even more. The mutant coughed and whined, desperately drawing each breath Bullseye allowed him. Cruelly biting down on his throat, drawing a cry from the man, he reveled in the taste, and in the feeling of blood racing. He wanted to rip Daken’s throat out, but that would cut the fun far too short. Instead he licked along the naked flesh, making Daken shiver — out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a smile playing across the mutant’s swollen, broken lips. Enraged, Bullseye grabbed him by the jaw. “Fucking hate your smile.” In response, Daken forced a wide rictus of a grin on his face, defiant and wide-eyed, and bucked his hips up.

With that, the illusion broke.

Bullseye couldn’t lie to himself about what he wanted. He was aware of their state, half dressed and bloodied, pressed so close that they could feel every movement of each others bodies. He could feel Daken’s hard cock rub against his own, the shuddering tension in both of them and the longing for release. The urge to taste and hurt was still there – sex and violence so closely entwined that he couldn’t separate one from the other – but it was paired with the need to escape.

Stray thoughts of Karla and the way she sounded when they fucked flicker across his mind. She talked dirty. She told him filthy things. He didn’t want to hear Daken’s voice telling him anything.

“Stop thinking,” Daken growled, grinding his hips against him and tugging Bullseye’s boxers down. The command did nothing to exorcise the fear and self-loathing, but did couple it with rage and indignation. He was tense, the muscles of his shoulders, stomach and buttocks clenching, and he tasted bile even as his arousal ate at him. He wanted to ruin Daken, to tear him apart, but he needed him more. Strangled gasping and laughing left his mouth unbidden, strange high pitches closer to sobbing, as Bullseye tore at Daken’s hair and pressed their mouths together once more to shut him up. Drawing blood, he bit and sucked at Daken, letting the mutant worm his way out of his own sweatpants. Skin to skin contact had never before felt so maddening.

Clinging onto Daken, pressing fingers into his wounds and tearing at bandages, he bucked and jerked artlessly. It was Daken who grabbed him by the hips, with his bloodied, broken, slick hands, and set a pace that had them both gasping and growling. Bullseye stared down at Daken’s face, trying his best to avoid the mutant’s eyes, fixating on his red lips and the curve of his mouth. When it became to much — his touch, sounds and scent — Bullseye drowned himself in that mouth.

The insane clarity of orgasm hit him and he knew exactly how wrong all of it was, keening and gasping he bit at Daken. Exhaustion and numbness flooded him, and, breathless, Bullseye lay down next to Daken, pulling up his boxers with the movement. The mutant was flushed and smeared in both of their blood and come, and with a grin he grabbed Bullseye’s face and kissed him gently. He tasted like blood. Daken shifted and squirmed until he was in his arms wet, hot, and far too close.

Bullseye knew that he should kick him off his bed, out of his room, but he couldn’t seem to care enough to move. There was a knife somewhere with Daken’s name on it. He would take his time and carve out Daken’s eyes, cut out his lying tongue and just stab and cut him until there was nothing left but blood and gore.

Daken’s lips pressed against his forehead, and Bullseye mouthed at his throat, not quite kissing or biting. He let himself fall asleep, his head pressed against the hollow of Daken’s throat. It was too early to be awake, or to care.

Bullseye woke up for a third time that day to the sound of the alarm clock. He had a headache, he couldn’t feel his right arm and his skin itched like crazy. The sensory input that Daken was curled around him, lying on top of his arm, didn’t quite hit home until the mutant gave him a lazy smile and a kiss.

“Get off me. I need to shower,” Bullseye grunted and shoved him away. “I fucking stink of you.”

“Care for company?” Daken asked with a dirty grin. He was disheveled and filthy but he made it look good. The blood, come and torn bandages looked staged for dramatic effect.

“You wish.”

“Oh yes, I do.”

Bullseye escaped to the bathroom. He ripped off his stained t-shirt and boxers, and bruises and streaks of copper red blood painted him. Needing to rid himself of what he had done, he stepped into the shower. The hot water didn’t offer solutions, but it did at least wash Daken’s stink off him. He didn’t think, focused on rubbing himself with the soap to get rid of the blood that was slowly pooling at his feet even as it was washed away. It took him a while to notice that his old cuts had started to bleed.

He stepped out a good half hour later, wrapping a towel around his waist, starring at his own image in the mirror as he taped the bleeding cuts shut. One on his eyebrow, the second on his lip and a third across his ribs on his right side – all courtesy of the Barton brothers, together with purple and black blooms along his face, stomach and sides.

Making it look even worse was the fact that he was still bruised and battered from previous battles, with old scars prominent against his pale skin, and he could name each one. Daredevil had caused more than a few. More recently, left shoulder and right thigh had scarring from bullet wounds from fighting the Punisher nearly a month ago. Bruising from the sea monsters on his ribs still yellow and green. Daken’s nails had raked through all of this, bright red lines painted on him, and he could feel the phantom sensation of Daken’s hands on his skin.

Shuddering, Bullseye riffled through the cabinet for his medication and took the intended dose of the drug cocktail he was currently on. He counted the pills twice and swallowed them dry. Closing his eyes, he gripped the sink tightly and tried to steady himself, breathing deeply.

“Took you ages,” Daken said as he reentered the bedroom. Bullseye didn’t know what he had expected, seeing that the mutant was still there.

“Whatever, fuckhead,” he snapped, teeth grinding, and went to get underwear and the piece of shit Hawkeye uniform, dressing stiffly.

“Could we please skip the awkward morning after avoidance? It’s exceedingly tedious,” Daken said, watching him get dressed with a condescending tilt of his head.

“See you at breakfast.” Bullseye turned to leave, but Daken – who he hadn’t even noticed move – grabbed him by the arm, stopping him and pulling him back. He snarled and tried to pull free; Daken’s grip held. He struggled and thrashed, and his breathing felt difficult, like his chest was collapsing in on itself – he was nearly hyper-ventilating. He could barely believe the noises that were leaving his mouth, hitched cries and broken laughing yelps. He realized that he was crying when his cheeks felt wet.

“Calm down, listen to me,” Daken urged, and grabbed the back of his neck with a heavy hand—his right, as his left was still a mess—pulling him closer. “It’s all right. Just breathe.”

“Fucking hate you,” Bullseye growled when he had managed to steady his breathing, shaking underneath Daken’s touch. Somehow, the mutant was making him feel better. It reminded him of that time in the back alley clinic, it had been much the same except for the whole being shot and bleeding to death business. He felt calmer, but he knew that there was something wrong.

“I’m sorry,” the mutant murmured, as if he’d heard him.

“As if, fuckface,” Bullseye replied, not expecting a single thing from Daken, except for perhaps bad Chinese take-out.

“Mmh, you’re right,” Daken hummed casually.

“We even?” Bullseye spat on a self-loathing impulse. Once more he tasted bile underneath the blood.

Daken flinched at this, but then smiled and rubbed the back of his neck soothingly. “This wasn’t about getting even. I’m still helping you.”

“With what?”

“You still want Barton, don’t you? I told you I would get him for you.” Daken looked up at him from beneath long lashes, and now his smile was a promise rather than a insult.

“Why?” Bullseye wondered, suspicion and bemusement fighting for dominance, tears drying on his face.

“Ever the idiot. I told you, I get bored.”

Daken reached up for him, standing on his tip-toes, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. He hated Daken’s gentle touch, and he hated the fact that he’d ever played along with whatever it was they had. Bullseye thought of big red flowers blooming and of ripping out Daken’s insides as they continued to kiss.

It took them a few hours to leave his room, partly because Bullseye didn’t want to leave until he was certain that he wouldn’t freak out randomly at the breakfast table. Daken picked up clothes from his own room, but showered and got dressed in Bullseye’s. He didn’t know if he was grateful or not for this gesture. He didn’t like Daken. In fact, he hated him. But his presence was soothing in a way Bullseye couldn’t describe, it anchored him in the present. They didn’t talk.

Breakfast, which was technically closer to brunch, was a quiet affair after Bullseye made a point of glaring death at anyone who glanced twice at him or asked about his late arrival. Daken said something about having to wash his hair. Not even Mac bothered him, only briefly hissed and flashed his tongue. Not that Bullseye had to try very hard, since Norman was busy briefing them on some protest that was going to occur during the day. Some Occupy Wall Street hippie fucks were going on about human rights violations and big government. As if anyone cared.

Problem was that some freaks, mutants and the like, had decided to join the protest, and things risked to get ugly, so extra security had been requested. It was a crap baby-sitting mission, with clear and strict orders for non-lethal force only and only when absolutely necessary (translation: when they could get away with it).

Norman said that they couldn’t afford bad PR. Toy and merchandise sales had dropped, which was according to Normie was bad as the increase of off-putting YouTube videos. The point was that he needed a clean operation and no incidents that couldn’t be easily covered up. What Stormin’ Norman wanted was to shoot every single protester and then possibly crucify them.

Regardless, that was how Bullseye ended up standing in front of a crowd of protesters, wishing that he could kill each and every one of them. Other than the mind-numbing boredom of the task, the first few hours went well, and Bullseye preoccupied himself by seeing how many civilians he could scare the crap out of by just glaring and smiling at them.

As he was making a young man in a stupid mask piss himself, Bullseye noticed an argument going on between a protester and Daken. Their body-language was telling a clear story of the man being the aggressor and Daken standing his ground and trying to keep the situation controlled without resorting to killing. Bullseye didn’t believe it for a second. It seemed to be contained but then the man started shouting and shoving Daken. Security was there and intervened and the moment where everything seemed to be settling down there was a cry.

“Fuck the police! Fuck the man!” There was a masked man with a bottle and it hit the riot shields, splashing beer and shattering glass on everyone in close vicinity. Next thing there was a human wave of angry protesters attacking the riot police and Daken.

With a hot wave of anger and relief, Bullseye, nocked, drew and shot in one smooth move, hitting the first man who had argued with Daken in the head. With that, the localized scuffle spread with the news of man’s death and the chaos it spread. Soon people were fighting just because others already were. Bullseye smiled and felt at home as he fought the angry mob, which was actually targeting him as word had got around that he killed the protester.

“Hawkeye! Wolverine! What the hell are you doing? Put a stop to this!” Osborn’s voice crackled over the coms, but Bullseye didn’t care, breaking the neck of a dark haired woman, and then kicking a man with a baseball cap in the kidneys and breaking his jaw. He removed the ear piece and threw himself into the fight.

The riot was threatening to turn into a massacre, but then came the tear gas, and the riot cops got their shit together and started to slowly break up the rioters. Bullseye laughed and drew his bow, but before he could shoot he was pulled back and someone hit him in the face hard enough to drop him on the ground.

“—what the hell?” he slurred, trying to get his bearings. He had black spots flying over his field of vision, and couldn’t stand up without stumbling back down again. He was grabbed and pulled aside roughly, and, blinking and stumbling, Bullseye recognized the God of War. Ares was hauling him along like luggage, not bothering to look at him until he had him safe on the other side of the wall of riot police and vehicles.

“The fuck did you do that for?” Bullseye protested and ripped free from his grasp – or, more accurately, Ares let him go.

“For disobeying direct orders,” Ares grunted and gave him a level stare from under his helmet.

“Fucking shits attacked me, and Daken too! I was defending –“ Bullseye started but was interrupted by Ares slapping him across the face. Bullseye stumbled to his knees. His jaw was killing him, and his entire head reverberated with the blow. If it hadn’t been for the adamantium he would have broken something.

“That was for talking back,” Ares said, and pulled him up on his feet by the straps of his costume. To Bullseye’s bafflement Ares dusted him off and adjusted his costume over his shoulders.

“The chain of command needs to be followed, no matter what,” he continued with what Bullseye could have sworn was a far softer tone.

He had no idea what the war god was referring to until Ares gave Daken, who was being ushered through the crowd, a meaningful glance. Bullseye flushed under the grime and blood on his face and, for a moment, the suicidal impulse to stab Ares in the face for daring to even insinuate anything flooded him with rage. Barely containing himself, he gritted his teeth and settled in his best military stance. Ares stared him down flatly and moved on deal with the crowed, passing Osborn by with a disapproving grunt.

Osborn was currently chewing out Daken, and out of curiosity Bullseye was drawn closer.

“— this mess started with you, I don’t appreciate my Avengers starting a god damn massacre,” Norman ranted, his face red with suppressed rage.

“I don’t appreciate being called racial slurs,” Daken interrupted firmly, arms crossed in front of his chest, fingers digging into his arms.

“I don’t care what he called you, or your mother, I care about the damage you caused with this stunt of yours. And you!” Osborn said, pointing directly at Bullseye, “Don’t think I didn’t see your contribution to this mess. I want the both of you out. Now. I can’t have either of you in the public eye. Get back to the Tower and stay there. I’ll deal with you once this mess is over. Leave, NOW,” Stomin’ Norman roared, still a bright red, and flew off to coordinate the clean-up and pacification of the remaining rioters.

Bullseye could see Mac gleefully grinning at them and making a rude gesture as they were marched off to the transport. Bullseye flipped him off and spat on the ground, stalking off to the transport back to the Tower. Daken sat down opposite him and smiled that damn smug smile of his plastered on his face like a confession.

“I fucking knew it. I hope it was worth it, shitface,” Bullseye said without any real malice.

“I have no idea what you’re referring to,” Daken replied with a shit-eating grin, and winked at him. “Osborn will be busy for a while.”

“Uh-huh. And that’s helpful because—?”

“No reason,” Daken said breezily, “you busy?”

“Free as a bird, what you got in mind?” Bullseye asked with a raised eyebrow, slipping back into the strange partnership they had going on. He pointedly did not think about Daken’s lips or how they tasted.

“Just a little B&E. Impersonating a civil servant. Theft and counterfeit of confidential material. Possibly some manslaughter, nothing premeditated,” Daken rattled off, making Bullseye laugh.

“Because—?”

“Contingencies, sweetness. We’re catching ourselves some Avengers.”

“I’m in,” Bullseye said with a grin, opening the cut on his lip and tasting blood. Daken leaned forward and kissed it off his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by the lovely arcanelibrarian and the wonderful canam77. Dedicated to karaii for her awesome and gory daken/bullseye art.


End file.
